The walls of Castel San Angelo weighed upon her like lead, since Rome was again defiled by these Northern barbarians, whom her countrymen were powerless to repulse, whom they dared not provoke and under whose insolence they smarted. Stephania heaved a deep sigh. Then everything faded from her vision, like a landscape shrouded in mist and she relapsed in twilight dreams of a past that had gone forever.
For a moment Crescentius lingered on the threshold, as if entranced by the vision of her loveliness. The stern and anxious look, which his face had worn during the interview with the Chamberlain, passed off like a summer storm, as he stood before his adored wife. She started, as his shadow darkened the doorway, but the next moment he was at her side, and taking both her white hands in his, he drew her towards him and gazed with love and scrutiny into the velvet depths of her eyes.
For a moment her manner seemed slightly embarrassed and there was something in her tone which did not escape the Senator’s trained ear.
"I am glad you came," she said after the usual interchange of greetings such as lovers indulge in when brought together after a brief separation. "My lord’s time has been greatly occupied in the emperor’s absence."
Crescentius failed not to note the reproach in the tone of his wife, even through her smile. She seemed more radiantly beautiful than ever at this moment.
"And what would my queen have?" he asked. "All I have, or ever shall have, is hers."
"Queen indeed,—queen of a sepulcher, of the Mausoleum of an emperor," she replied scornfully. "But I ask not for jewels or palaces—or women’s toys. I am my lord’s helpmate. I am to take counsel in affairs of state."
A musing glance broke from the Senator’s eyes.
"Affairs of state," he said, with a smile and a sigh. "Alas,—I hoped when I turned my back on Aventine, there would be love awaiting me and oblivion—in Stephania’s arms. But I have strange news for you,—has it reached your ear?"
She shook her head. "I know of nothing stranger than the prevailing state."
"Margrave Eckhardt of Meissen, the German commander-in-chief, is bent upon taking holy orders. I thought it was an idle rumour, some gossip of the taverns, but within the hour it has been confirmed to me by a source whose authenticity is above doubt."